


fall, and dissolve into snow

by blackberrychai



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem)-centric, Coach/Choreographer Byleth, Eventual Smut, F/M, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is Bad at Feelings, Figure Skater Felix, Light Angst, Slow Burn, and we love him, figure skating AU, he is a prickly idiot boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrychai/pseuds/blackberrychai
Summary: Figure skating has been Felix's solace and obsession his whole life. After a season out of competition due to injury, he needs this year to go well, but now he's got a brand new coach who seems to have appeared out of nowhere, an apparently one-sided rivalry with his childhood friend, and he also seems to be surrounded by idiots.He just wants to focus and skate, but that's going to be harder than he'd planned.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 24
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my incredibly self-indulgent figure skating AU! Because if Felix likes blades, then why not knife shoes.
> 
> I've taken various liberties with the way coaching in competitive skating works, in order to make a version Garreg Mach exist, but most of the details about skating and competition will be as accurate as I can manage. If you want to understand the skating bits of this more, or look up any terms you don't recognise, [this post](https://soyouwanttowatchfs.com/post/170312069530/figure-skating-abcs-glossary-of-common-terms) is a very helpful glossary!
> 
> Finally, many, many beta thanks to [TrickySleeves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickySleeves/)!

Felix had only just dropped his bag inside the door of his apartment when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He digs it out with a scowl, intending just to silence it, but stops short when he sees the name on his screen.

“What the fuck,” he mutters. It’s not like Rhea, the head coach at the Garreg Mach training centre, ever has much cause to talk to him, let alone call him on a Tuesday evening. He’s not one of the rare skaters she coaches directly, and doesn’t have the standing to be worth much attention from her.

He sighs, takes a breath, and answers the call. “Hello?”

“Ah, hello Felix,” Rhea’s always calm voice comes over the line. “Would now be an appropriate moment talk? There are some matters I need to discuss with you.”

Felix frowns, and makes his way to slump down into one of his kitchen chairs. “Uh, yeah, now is fine.”

“Excellent. Well, unfortunately I have some rather bad news for you. I’m sure he’ll be in contact with you himself at a later date, but most sadly Pavel has unexpectedly had to leave our coaching team.”

“What?” Felix snaps out. “I mean, right now? We’re still choreographing my programmes.”

“I know, and I understand how inconvenient this is for you. However, he’s had a family emergency at home in Russia, and has had to leave immediately. He rang me this afternoon, and I believe he is planning to fly out first thing tomorrow.”

“Ah. Right, of course,” he says, now feeling a little embarrassed that his first reaction had been concern for himself, not whatever would make his coach immediately drop everything and quit his job.

“I just wanted to let you know, and briefly explain to you my plans for his replacement,” Rhea says. “This leaves all of Pavel’s students in a difficult place, but most luckily, I recently came back in contact with an old employee of mine, and he and his daughter have agreed to join our team,” Rhea sounds surprisingly self-satisfied at this for such a usually self-contained person. “She has a background as both a dancer and a skater, and if you’re amenable, she will be taking over as your primary coach, and finish working on your choreography.”

This conversation is certainly making Felix sigh more than any he’s had in a while, but it’s not like he really has much choice in the matter. He just hopes this person isn’t useless. “Fine. Whatever you think is best.”

“Wonderful. I’m sorry this situation is so inconvenient for you, but I do hope this will work out well. Byleth will be starting immediately, so you can sort out your schedule with Seteth when you come into the rink tomorrow, and you should be able to fit in at least an introductory session this week.”

“Ok, that sounds fine,” Felix says, and hesitates for a moment. “I hope you know, next season is… very important for me, for my skating career. I just hope this will all go smoothly.”

“Of course, Felix,” Rhea answers, her voice as even as ever. “If there are any issues, we can always shuffle things around again, and we can ask Manuela to manage your choreography if needed. I have every confidence that both you and Byleth will be able to make this work.”

Well, that’s certainly Rhea’s version of a veiled ‘or else.’ He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

He barely hears her farewells, and stares blankly at his kitchen backsplash as he presses the end call button. This was an extra hurdle he was not expecting to have to deal with. Never mind. He can manage this, like he has everything else, like he’s dealt with his injuries and a whole year off the competitive circuit. He stumbles through his evening routine with minimal attention, eating and showering with his mind fixed on the past day’s training, mentally tracing every jump and spin and cataloguing every slight slip he’d made.

Felix doesn’t let himself think about the absence of his coach until he’s lying in bed, lit only by the light of his phone. It’s not even that he was particularly attached to Pavel, though they got along well enough. He’s lucky enough to have merited a spot at Garreg Mach, and with their frankly ridiculous facilities and illustrious coaching team, he’ll take whatever he gets. But he _needs_ next season to go well, or he never has a shot of making it as a competitor, and suddenly having to change to an unknown coach is… almost terrifying. He stares at the phone’s home screen blankly until it shuts off automatically, plunging the room into darkness.

Gritting his teeth, he turns it back on and shoots a text off to Sylvain before he can have second thoughts. _Did you hear about the new coach_ , it reads. Sylvain knows him well enough to extrapolate the rest of his thoughts from that.

The reply comes almost immediately. _Yeah, crazy right?_

Felix chews at his lip and does not respond. After another minute Sylvain adds: _I hope she’s hot :p_

He practically throws his phone down onto the floor at that. Serves him right for thinking Sylvain would be any comfort. He stares up at the ceiling, and he does not sleep well.

* * *

Felix arrives at the rink the next morning irritable and snappish, not that that’s unusual. He practically trips over a flock of tiny novice skaters charging towards the ice for their practice session, into some woman at whom he growls an admonishment to look where she’s fucking going. His scowl is apparently intense enough to warn off greetings from even the ever-chirpy Flayn, sitting at the reception desk staring happily at the tank of tropical fish.

He doesn’t bother to knock on the door of Seteth’s office, just walks in and ignores the chair opposite his desk in favour of standing looming above him. Seteth puts down his pen and rubs at his temples wearily.

“Please, Felix, at least sit down,” he says.

Felix does not obey, but he does take a half-step away from the desk, so he’s not standing over the other man quite so much. “Rhea told me to come talk to you about the new coach.”

A slightly pained expression crosses Seteth’s face. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m still sorting schedules, because some of Pavel’s skaters have redistributed their coaching hours, but you shouldn’t have too many changes from your current training plan.”

“Hmph,” Felix snorts. “Fine. When do I actually get to meet this person? Which skaters is she coaching? Who even is she?”

Seteth sighs heavily. “I don’t know much more than you. Rhea did _not_ consult me on this appointment, I assure you. I met her for the first time this morning. And I believe you will be able to have your first session with her this morning, in place of your one with Pavel.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and leans back in his chair. “As for skaters, I believe for now she’s mainly going to be working with you and Annette, and assisting with Dimitri and possibly some others.”

“She’s not coaching Dimitri?” Felix blurts out, then calms himself. “Pavel was working with him a lot, along with Sylvain and Mercedes, and Ingrid and Ashe.”

“Dimitri was already working more with the other coaches, so he will continue with them. As for the others, apparently Miss Eisner is not,” Seteth’s lips thin, “ _practised_ at coaching the pairs discipline. Manuela will be working with them.”

That Seteth sounds notably unenthused about this new coach is not reassuring. However, not sharing a coach with Dimitri… he squashes down the thought that this new arrangement might have more benefits than he anticipated. “Where was she coaching before here?” he asks.

Seteth’s face twists slightly. “Apparently nowhere.”

“What?” Felix exclaims.

“She has apparently been working as a jobbing choreographer and coach, but she hasn’t held a permanent position anywhere yet.” The look on Seteth’s face is sour. “I am assured of her competence, but have been shown no curriculum vitae that would back it up. She is remarkably… young to be a coach.”

Felix looks furious. “How on earth is she just walking into this job? I can’t afford to have someone completely useless as a coach! How am I meant –”

Seteth cuts him off. “I assure you, I share your concerns. But please, at least try this, before I have to rip up all my schedules yet again.”

“Whatever,” Felix says mutinously. “And anyway, who’s this father I heard about?”

“Ah yes,” Seteth says, his face finally relaxing a little. “Jeralt Eisner. He’ll be doing some off-ice coaching and conditioning – you know how overstretched we have been lately.”

“Eisner,” Felix mutters. The name is familiar. “Former pairs skater?”

“Indeed,” Seteth answered. “He was one of Rhea’s first skaters, I believe, but he left competition very suddenly many years ago.”

“At least it sounds like they’re not both useless, I guess.”

“Is that all?” Seteth said dryly. “You are not the only skater whose schedule I must rearrange.”

Felix turns on his heel without another word, and marches down to the changing rooms. That conversation has completely failed to reassure him as he’d wanted it to. Who the hell is this woman who’s being foisted upon him? He fumes silently as he changes and goes through his regular warm up routine of stretches and gentle jogging. He only has an hour before he meets this woman, and however dubious he might be, he won’t let that be an excuse for skating poorly.

He does his best to lose himself in the gentle pull of his muscles, and then laces on his boots and makes his way onto the ice to begin the repetitive motions of stroking practice. There is something soothing about these fundamentals, just circling the ice with slow and steady motions of his skates, shifting effortlessly from one edge of a blade to the other. As ever, it’s only really the sensation of the ice under him, the ability to glide so that a wind whips at his hair, that lets his mind still itself. He flings himself into a spin, enjoying how the rotations speed up as he pulls his leg in, and the shift of the breeze on his face as he pulls out of it and into a lazy, half-remembered step sequence from an old programme, weaving through all the other skaters surrounding him.

All too soon, he’s being herded off the ice so that the Zamboni can sweep across it, refreshing the surface, and he grumpily sets himself up in a corner of the corridor where he can see when it’s done, and pace until it is. Several of the other skaters in his training cohort come and join him, waiting for their ice time. It’s far easier to share the ice with just this small group of them than it was in the crowded free session Felix had warmed up in.

“Felix!” exclaims Sylvain, his stride easy even walking on clumsy skate guards. Felix just scowls at him in response. “Aw, come on, I haven’t even seen you yet today, what can I have done to piss you off already?”

“It’s more just your general presence,” Felix grumbles.

Sylvain just laughs and changes the subject. “Have you met the new coach yet?” he asks.

“Ooh, what have you heard about her!” Annette interjects excitedly from across the hallway. “Flayn told me she’s really young, but that’s about all I know.” Annette’s cheery demeanour would usually be exactly the kind that would irritate Felix, but she’s so disgustingly good-natured that he can’t bring himself to dislike her. Though she’s only a year younger than Felix, next season will be her first as an international senior competitor, and she sometimes seems so much more innocent than her age.

“Young sounds very promising,” Sylvain says with a lecherous smirk, throwing his arm around Mercedes’ shoulders.

She shrugs him off easily, with a placid smile. Mercedes is the newest addition to those training at the Garreg Mach centre, yet another of Sylvain’s endless trial partners. None of them ever seem to stick for long – those that Sylvain doesn’t seduce immediately and then discard get too irritated by his endless flirting. But Felix is impressed by the way Mercedes handles him. She seems like she’d be a pushover, but she seems to have already mastered quelling Sylvain’s antics in a way that even his oldest friends have a hard time doing. “Come now, there’s more interesting things about a person than their appearance, Sylvain. I’m excited to see what her style is like,” she says.

Felix just gives a tight shrug. “Seteth told me her father was one of Rhea’s first skaters, but also that she apparently doesn’t actually have much experience. I just hope our careers aren’t going to get screwed up because of some nepotism.”

And of course, because what else was going to happen, as he finishes saying this and looks up down the corridor, he sees a woman approaching who can only be the new coach. She’s wearing battered-looking skates, and she’s not one of the people in their group for practice, so who else can she be? And she must have heard him, but her face is perfectly blank mask as she approaches.

“Hi,” she says, coming to a stop, her face still pleasantly blank. She’s not that tall, but she carries herself with an upright posture that gives her more presence, and her mint-green hair hangs loose around her face. “I’m Byleth,” she adds, and then stops.

Sylvain, as ever, is the one to provide the social graces, and steps forward with a hand extended. “Sylvain Gautier,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

She just nods, and shakes his hand perfunctorily, looking enquiringly at the others. “Felix Fraldarius and Anette Dominic,” Sylvain introduces. “Two of Garreg Mach’s finest singles skaters. And my spectacular partner, Mercedes Martritz.”

Mercedes beams at her. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“I was expecting a few more of you,” Byleth says. From anyone else, it would probably be a question, but from her it just comes out flat.

“There are indeed!” Sylvain replies. “This session usually has Ingrid, Ashe, and Dimitri too. You don’t have to take responsibility for us all, though.” He flashes his most charming grin at her.

She just shakes her head calmly. “Not for now, at least. Things might get moved around a bit, though.”

Sylvain, usually the consummate charmer, seems a little baffled to be presented with someone he can’t seem to get any reaction out of, and Felix finds himself inadvertently warming to her a little just for that. “Well,” Sylvain says slowly, “I’ll leave you to your students here, then! Lovely to meet you.” And he drags Mercedes off down the corridor, most likely in search of someone else to bother.

The remaining three of them stand in silence for a moment, until Annette seems unable to bear it any longer, and says brightly, “It’s so wonderful to meet you! I’m excited to be working with you. How are you finding Garreg Mach so far?”

Felix tunes out Byleth’s brief replies to the small talk in favour of watching the machine on the ice. The moment it rolls off and the attendant beckons him briefly, he’s at the edge of the ice, pulling off the guards on his skates.

“Come on,” he says to Annette and Byleth. He takes a deep breath, and steps out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to TrickySleeves for help with this chapter! More skating in this one, and a bit more Byleth.

Felix skates ahead of Byleth and Annette, gliding out onto the ice with long, powerful strokes. He makes one circuit, then returns to where he’d left his water and jacket on a bench at the side. Taking a long drink, he watches the two of them as they stand a few metres away. Annette is as bubbly as ever, but he can see her nervousness in the way she bounces slightly on her toes, grinding her toepicks against the fresh ice. After a moment, Byleth motions to her to follow, and drifts over to where Felix stands. The two of them put their skate guards and other paraphernalia down, Annette still extolling the facilities available at Garreg Mach.

“So, how do you two want to do this?” Byleth asks.

Felix can’t help a sarcastic reply coming to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be the one deciding that?”

Annette shoots him a frown, “He _means_ ,” she says, “We’ll be happy to go along with whatever you think is best.”

Byleth sighs. It’s the first sign of emotion Felix has seen from her, and it makes him realise that when everyone had been talking about how young she is, they really did mean _young_. “We’ve got two hours now, I think,” she replies. “So let’s just split that up, for today at least. I just want to get to know your skating, and work out where you are with your programmes. We can sort out how we do things regularly later on, but right now I think I should work with you one at a time. How does that sound?”

“Of course, that sounds great!” Annette says happily. “Felix, do you want to go first? I wouldn’t mind a bit longer to warm up.”

“Fine,” Felix replies, and scowls down at his boots as she skates off with a cheery “See you soon!”

Unfortunately, Byleth seems just as happy as him to stand there in silence. When he looks back up at her, she’s watching Annette’s careful crossovers with an assessing eye.

“How old are you?” he asks abruptly. She turns to him, and her face is blank again.

“Twenty-three,” she says calmly. “How old are you?”

Felix scowls. “Twenty.”

She just nods back at him. “Rhea told me a little about you, but still not all that much. You were injured last season, I think?”

He has to tear his eyes away from her face. He _hates_ this, being forced to explain himself and all his weaknesses to some stranger, as necessary as he knows it is. “Yes,” he says shortly, watching Ingrid and Ashe laugh as they make their way onto the ice. “Fracture in my right ankle. Just before Worlds a bit over a year ago. I’ve had to sit all of this season out.”

It’s every skater’s worst nightmare, and his injury was a nasty one, but Byleth shows none of the wincing sympathy most people exhibit when he tells them. Her expression is more calculating than anything else. “How has it healed? How have you found it’s affected your skating?”

“Fine,” he bites out, and shifts uncomfortably on his skates. “It’s healed well, all things considered. My jumps and everything are fine, I just keep being told not to push myself.”

She gives him a small smile in response. “Noted.” He glares back. He hates it when people tell him to take things easy. “I’m told I have to finish choreographing your programmes,” she continues. “Your former coach is meant to send me some notes, but he hasn’t had a chance to yet. How far along are you with that?”

It’s only March, and the competitive season for this year is still just wrapping up, so the programmes for the next one don’t need to be sorted for a while yet. Felix shrugs. “Not all that far yet. We had some jump layouts and broader plans worked out, but not much more than that.”

Byleth looks contemplative. “What about music?”

“Not decided yet either. He wanted me to do Firebird for my free programme, but I don’t want something so overused.”

“Mmm,” she says, “Yes. You don’t seem the type. I could see Firebird suiting you, though.”

Felix shrugs. He knows he ought to care more about that sort of thing, but he’s always been a technical skater. He thrives in perfecting his movements, not in interpretation and artistry. “Whatever. Do you want to see me skate or what?”

She nods. “Do you have an old programme you could show me, maybe? Don’t worry about competition-ready jumps, I just want to get a sense of your skating.”

Felix glares at her. That sounds like a challenge to him. “Fine. Let me skate a little more first, though.”

“Of course,” Byleth says. “I’ll just watch.”

Felix grunts and moves off. He throws himself into a full warm-up, starting with spins and steps, then pauses for breath. He doesn’t want her to underestimate him. Regardless of how good she turns out to be, he needs her to push him, and she won’t do that if she doesn’t think he’s capable. He builds up some speed, finding a clear space, then throws himself into a toe loop. The landing doesn’t jar as it sometimes does, and he breaths into the bend of his knee to keep the motion smooth. Good. Today is one of those where the jumps come easily.

He continues for another few minutes, then picks up his jacket from the bench next to Byleth, and extracts his phone from it. Skating over to the audio system in the corner, he scrolls through and finds the cut of Danse Macabre he’d used for his short programme before his injury.

“Hey, Annette!” he calls as she passes him. “I’m doing a run-through, can you start the music for me?”

She agrees happily and takes up his position. Felix skates into the centre and catches Byleth’s eye. “Ready?” he asks. She gives a half-smile, and then Annette starts the music.

He hasn’t skated this programme in full in a long time, but he still remembers it intimately. He’d trained hard for it, had hoped to have a shot at a world medal with it, and its patterns are scored into his memory the same way his skates score the ice. Performing is always the aspect of his sport that makes him most uncomfortable, and even just on this practice rink, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him as he skates.

He tries to lose himself in the feeling of the ice beneath him, and turns into his first jump. Byleth may have said not to bother, but he intends to do this properly. With a sharp strike of a toe to the ice, he flings himself into the air, and suppresses a smile as the quadruple toe loop lands near-perfectly. The programme comes more easily after that, as the introduction ends and the music sweeps him forward and into his triple axel. Two jumps down, and Byleth had better be impressed at the end of this.

Felix understands why this music had been picked for him – it’s got an energetic prickliness and hint of darkness to its subject matter that he knows people associate with him – but he’s never really quite agreed. It’s far too exuberant for him, and he would never choose to be represented by something so demonstrative.

Moving from one spin to the next, the connective movements still feel far too florid in a way that seems very alien to him. He suffers his way through the showy head roll and waves of the arms to his combination jump, but the unnatural feeling leaves him unsettled and what he intends to be two triple jumps turns into a triple and a double. Cursing silently, he throws himself into the step sequence. Here, at least, the choreography has a little more bite – savage little twists back and forth and fast movements that come a lot more easily to him. He relishes the burn of his muscles as he races through the final build in the music, his final spin, and finishes triumphantly.

A cheer from Sylvain punctuates the sudden silence the music leaves behind, and Felix comes back to himself to see everyone else applauding for him. They seem to have all paused their own practising to watch him, and he avoids all their eyes with a glare as he skates back over to Byleth. She’s the only one not applauding, and just watches him quietly as he snatches up his water. “Well?” he says.

She remains quiet for a moment, then says, “I stand by what I said about you not seeming the type for overused music.”

Felix snorts. That had been another thing he’d disliked about the programme. It wasn’t that it was bad, but so many skaters used the music that part of him hated it just for that. “It wasn’t my choice of piece, no.”

The look on Byleth’s face is contemplative once again. “Do you have any ideas of what you want to skate to for next season? I don’t want to just pick something for you.”

Felix shrugs “I’ve never been very good at –” he waves a hand in the air, “all that stuff.”

The questions Byleth asks him are surprisingly probing from there on. She asks him about what jumps he wants, how he approaches transitions, his entries to elements – always brief and to the point. She asks a lot of questions for someone who’s been so quiet otherwise, and Felix stumbles over his answers, forcing himself to over-explain things he doesn’t even understand himself. Her gaze is distant, considering, small frowns occasionally flitting across her face when he fumbles with his words. Her questions get more and more abstract, less about his capabilities and more about what he wants to convey, how he approaches performance, and Felix gets more and more frustrated.

“Look!” he explodes eventually. “I don’t know exactly how I want to skate! You’re the fucking coach, surely you’re meant to decide all this.”

She just lifts one eyebrow at him, and her face remains impassive. “I need to understand your skating to work with you,” she says.

Felix sighs, and scowls. “Whatever,” he grunts. “I just don’t like the cross-examination. Am I even going to skate any more today?”

Byleth gets to her feet. “Of course. Come on, I want to try some things.”

She leads him out onto the ice, and proceeds to have him try various steps and spin variations. Feeling slightly uncomfortable at his earlier outburst, he does his best to follow her directions, and luckily she now seems more inclined to watch his movements than question him.

“Felix,” she says, when they pause for a moment. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but we need to work together, and that includes me creating some programmes that will suit you.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I know,” he says finally. “I’d just rather show you how I skate than tell you.”

She nods. “I have to ask some things because I know as little about you as you do me,” she adds. “Usually when I do choreography I can ask skaters’ coaches about these things, and then put together the programmes after watching the skater. This is… new to me, having just me working with a skater.”

A little chastisement is the least he deserves, Felix supposes, so he’s glad she’s thinking of him as someone to work with, not on. He nods back at her, and they resume their little follow-the-leader dance. It’s not until he’s watching her demonstrate a set of steps for a jump entrance for him to copy and she leaps into a jump like it’s nothing that he realises wow, she’s _good_. She has an effortlessness to her movements that he envies, and every stroke of her blades is full of power. She circles back to him, and looks surprised to find him staring at her. “What is it?” she asks.

He shakes himself. “Nothing. Show me that again?”

After another twenty minutes or so, Byleth stops him and says, “Ok. Enough. We should take a break, and then I have to work with Annette.”

Felix nods. “Fine. I’ll… work on spins or something, I guess.”

The half-smile he gets in response is all the more rewarding now he’s actually seen how well she can skate. “We have another session this afternoon, right? Would you mind making it an off-ice one? I want to go over yours and Annette’s training plans.”

He’s loath to give up any of his ice time, but it makes sense. “All right,” he agrees reluctantly.

She nods once, and then turns to skate over to Annette. That was a lot better than Felix had feared, he thinks as he sits down and picks up his water bottle. She doesn’t seem incompetent, at least, and he liked some of the ideas she presented him with. What he doesn’t understand, though, is why she isn’t competing. Even from the little fragments he saw, she seems good enough to, and she’s still young. She has height in her jumps and there’s something almost magnetic about her when she’s in motion, for all that when she’s still she seems so blank-faced. He may not follow the ladies’ singles skating as closely as the men’s, but he’s pretty sure she isn’t an active competitor.

He exhales heavily and shakes his legs out, standing up again. It’s a mystery for another day. For now, he has work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The programme Felix skates for Byleth is set to Camille Saint-Saens' Danse Macabre, and is based on [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Ucv7j-Zzz4) by Denis Ten.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who’s been reading and commenting! I’m so glad people are enjoying my incredibly niche AU.
> 
> Again, beta thanks to TrickySleeves!

Byleth spends the rest of her first day at Garreg Mach going over Felix and Annette’s training regimens, and exhaustively reviewing all their scheduling. Between early starts, time on the ice, off-ice workouts, and a few added dance classes that Byleth insists will be helpful, Felix hardly has any time left free. His father is still insisting that he get some kind of degree, so he’s also got time set aside for the online classes he begrudgingly takes. It’s a fair enough trade, Felix supposes, for his father paying for his training and apartment. He hates having to rely on him, but figure skating is an expensive sport, and unless he does exceptionally well next season and manages some major endorsements or advertising, he’ll be dependent on his help still for a while yet.

He goes home feeling frustrated, not as physically exhausted as he usually is, but when he tries to sit down to do some work, he finds his eyes keep wandering away from the screen of his laptop, no matter how much he tries to focus. Eventually he runs out of patience, and slams it shut. Pulling out his phone, he gives in to the impulse he’s been resisting since the middle of the afternoon. He opens the browser and types figure skating world championship results into the search bar. He drums his fingers on the table until the search loads, and he opens the first result – an article on one of the niche skating news websites.

“World Championship First Day Results!” it proclaims in large letters, and then below: “Dimitri Blaiddyd in first place after men’s short programme.” Felix sighs. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting that, but it still stings a little. He doesn’t really want to untangle the complicated nest of emotions in his chest – how much of it is simply a wish to be there himself, and how much is ugly jealousy, he doesn’t think he quite wants to know.

His ankle has been healed for months, now, but it had been a complex fracture, and he’d been ordered to take things slowly by the physiotherapists. When the Faerghus National Championships had come round in January, he’d been sternly ordered not to compete. Without a medal there, and only in his second season as a senior competitor, the skating federation hadn’t wanted to take the risk of sending him to Worlds. Instead, he’s sat here, scrolling through the day’s results on his phone.

Not wanting to think about it any more, he eats and heads gratefully to bed, and is only reminded of Dimitri when he gets back to the rink the next morning. Ingrid is sitting in the foyer when he enters, and she greets him cheerily.

“Felix!” she calls out. “I didn’t really see you yesterday. How’s the new coach?”

He shrugs at her. “We’ll see,” he says.

She grins back. “From you, that means she hasn’t done anything you hate yet, which sounds pretty good to me.” Felix glares at her half-heartedly, but she just continues. “Did you hear about Dimitri?”

“Yes,” he replies stiffly. He doesn’t want to get into yet another argument with Ingrid about their old friend.

She seems intent on pursuing it, though, and her grin drops as she says sharply, “Oh, come on, at least be happy for him.”

“I am,” Felix says, even though his expression contradicts him. 

Ingrid throws up her hands. “Fine! If you say so! I don’t want to go through all this again. Tell me about your new coach instead.”

Felix sits down next to her. “Not much to say. Only had one day of training with her so far.”

“Yes, but what’s she like? Ashe and I might work with her once our programmes are sorted, I want to know what to expect.”

“She’s…” Felix pauses. “She listens well. And I think she’s a good skater, too. Like, seriously good. I saw her demonstrating some jumps for Annette yesterday, and she definitely could be competing. I just don’t know where the hell she came from.”

Ingrid hums in agreement. “Mmm, I don’t think she’s competed recently. Interesting. And unless she had some major injury, she’s not old enough to have had to retire.” Nobody stays competitive in figure skating for all that long, but most skaters went on until they were in at least their mid-twenties, though eventually their bodies gave in to the strain of being pushed to breaking point every day.

They both head to a group conditioning session after that, and by the time it’s done Felix is thoroughly bored of the gossiping about his new coach. He’s curious, too, but he doesn’t want to chatter endlessly about it the way all the others do. Ashe seems enthralled by the mystery, his imagination always fanciful, and even as Mercedes gently dismantles his and Annette’s plans to sleuth for information in Seteth’s records, Felix can tell she’s intrigued too.

When he meets Byleth for training later on, he discovers something new about her: she can be a ruthless taskmaster. She works with Annette first today, and then pushes Felix through one suggestion after another right up until they’re practically forced off the ice by the maintenance staff. She drags him into the little dining hall at the back of the training centre complex, and pulls out a sheaf of papers that turns out to be the notes on his skating from his last coach. She makes him go through all his previous jump layouts and capabilities, scribbling endlessly on the papers, and she somehow also manages to also eat an obscene amount of lunch at the same time. They’re only interrupted when Sylvain comes over to pull Felix away, over to a table where Mercedes, Annette, Ingrid, and Ashe are crowded round a laptop. Byleth follows hesitantly after them, and Mercedes smiles widely in welcome.

“Are you going to watch with us, Byleth?” she asks. “We’re half-way through the last group for the men’s free skate at Worlds.”

Byleth shrugs, but sits down with them anyway. “Who’s skating next?” Felix asks reluctantly.

“We’re just waiting for scores, and then it’s Claude Riegan, and then Dimitri!” Ashe replies excitedly. “Oh, you haven’t met Dimitri yet, right Byleth?”

“No, not yet,” she says.

“Well, he’ll be back in a couple of days!” Annette chimes in. “After the competition’s done.”

They all return to focusing on the screen as Claude skates onto the ice to cheers and whistles. He’s always a fan favourite, smiling charmingly and always suave, both on and off the ice. His programme plays to his strengths, by turns intense, then playful, then sultry. He skates it cleanly, with no falls, but his jumps aren’t at their best, skipping a rotation or two half the time. When he’s given his scores he makes it into first place so far, but unless something goes very wrong for Dimitri, he seems bound to overtake Claude.

Felix is so intent on keeping his face straight and still and not grimacing that he hardly notices what’s happening for the next few minutes. And then suddenly Ingrid is hushing everyone else’s excited chatter, and Dimitri is standing in the centre of the ice. The Tchaikovsky he’s skating to begins, and Felix grits his teeth. He hates this programme. It’s so false on Dimitri, all fake nobility and tragic romance. Part way through, he even affects a kind of naivety that makes Felix want to either vomit or punch someone, preferably Dimitri. But he plays the part well enough for the crowd, and apparently for the judges too, because when the final scores come in Dimitri is in the lead by a wide margin. The others all whoop when it’s announced, and Ingrid is delighted enough that she’s almost dancing in her seat.

Dimitri sits beaming happily in the kiss-and-cry, waving at the cameras, and Felix can’t bear the sight. He gets up stiffly and pushes his chair back under the table with a loud screech that startles everyone out of their celebrations.

“I’m going back to the rink,” Felix says, as neutrally as he can manage.

“Come on, Fe, stay and watch the medal ceremony at least!” Sylvain protests.

He shakes his head. “I stayed to the end of the results, didn’t I? I have better things to do.”

Turning on his heel, he blocks out any other complaints, and makes his way out of the room as quickly as possible. He only realises when he gets to the door that Byleth has followed him. He remains silent all the way back through the corridors to the ice rink, and doesn’t meet Byleth’s eyes until he sits down to put his skating boots back on. He gives her a challenging look, and she meets his gaze with equanimity. Felix realises with relief that she isn’t going to question him about his reaction back there, or at least not right now.

“Take the time to stretch properly before you go back on the ice,” she says instead. “I want to do some jump work this afternoon.”

Felix nods, and gladly buries himself in the technicalities of quad jumps for the rest of the day. Byleth wants him to get his quad salchow properly consistent, which he still isn’t quite managing, and then the quad flip too. His muscles resent him rapidly after he agrees with her decision, but it’s reassuring to have something so concrete to focus on.

The next day, and the next, he carries on immersing himself in jump training. The distraction from the talk of Dimitri’s shiny new gold medal is a welcome one. Felix even wears the stupid jump harness that makes him look like a fish on the end of a pole, so someone can lift him and help him get just a little extra height so he can perfect the rotations for the jumps. 

He trains with Jeritza, the specialist jumps coach, trains with Byleth, trains on his own. It’s absorbing, and painful, and feels like just what he needs. Byleth’s insistence on trying out her various ideas for steps and spins is the only thing that stops him from spending every moment on it. 

After their afternoon ice time on their third afternoon, Byleth pulls Felix into one of the dance studios in Garreg Mach’s overdesigned building. 

“I want to run some music choices and programme concepts past you,” she says.   
Felix follows her unenthusiastically. Dance is one of the necessary parts of being a skater, but it’s never been one he’s liked. He prefers the athleticism, the pure physicality, and the push to create some kind of art just with his movements has always felt uneasily out of reach. So he sighs and lets Byleth point him to sit on the floor next to the speaker system in the corner of the studio, as she fiddles with connecting her phone to it.

“What’s the music?” he asks.

“It’s called _Naqoyqatsi_ ,” she says distractedly. “It was written as a film soundtrack, I think. I’m not good at audio editing, but I just shoved a couple of different sections together to show you.” 

Moving out into the middle of the room, she starts shaking out her limbs. “Don’t judge too quickly on this, but if you really don’t like it, just say.” She fixes him with an intent look. “I’m going to be blunt with you. Your technique is good, your jumps are solid, but if you really want to do well, you need more than that. I want to do what I can with this to push your performance scores up, and there’s no chance of that if you hide your dislike for what I give you.”

Felix nods, and has to suppress a quiet smile. Being frank with his dislike for things isn’t really his problem. Byleth gives each of her arms one last stretch across her chest, and then stands in a neutral position and nods to him. 

“These are just my first ideas, but hopefully you can get a sense of what I’m thinking of. Press play, please.” Felix reaches over and taps on her phone screen. A moment of silence hangs heavily in the room, and then heavy block chords echo through the room, and Byleth starts to move.

She starts slowly, drawing one arm up the centre line of her body, then out to the side as her head turns away from it. And then her head snaps around, sending her loose hair swinging, and she follows the weight of her outstretched arm to bring her into a spin. Her movements from there are all liquid things, carrying somehow a tension that makes Felix want to breath as quietly as possible so as not to disrupt it. The music has shifted into undulating arpeggios, but it still holds a heaviness that almost wants to weigh it down.

Choreography for the ice often starts in a dance studio, but Felix has always been frustrated by how impossible it is to mimic the feel of skating on floors with so much friction. Byleth seems to have no such problem, though, and she flows through her every motion. At one point, she lets her upper body hang in the air as her foot slowly turns on the spot, and Felix can almost see how it would translate to a smooth glide on the ice. A solo string instrument picks out high shimmering patterns, and she gains an almost plaintive quality, then it’s replaced by a xylophone, and she becomes almost frantic. The rough outline of a step sequence plays out before him, parts of which he recognises from suggestions she’s had him try over the past few days. But she dances the movements in a way he never has, the urgency and some strange pervasive sorrow carrying through from the music.  
When she comes to a stop, and the music ends, he can’t quite work out what to say. He lets Byleth break the silence first, walking back over to him.

“Well?” she asks, with an inquisitive tilt of her head.

Felix swallows heavily. “I can’t do that,” he says, trying to muster a little of his usual acerbic tone.

She frowns slightly. “No, really,” he insists. “I don’t even know how I’d go about doing that.”

“That’s what I’m here to show you,” she says. “If you mean you don’t like it, or don’t think it would work, just say so.”

“No,” he replies reluctantly. “That was… good. I just mean, I won’t be able to move like that. It would look too awkward on me.”

Byleth shakes her head. “You’re not an awkward skater. Your basic skating skills are good, and with your edge technique it won’t. When I said I would push your performance score, that also means pushing you, but I do think this will suit you.”

“Really?” Felix says. He hates himself for it, but his voice is almost weak, and he knows Byleth can hear it too, because she drops to the floor to sit beside him. He can feel the warmth of her shoulder next to him even as he steadfastly avoids looking at her.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Why do you think you can’t do it?”

He shrugs. “Like you said, I’m a technical skater. What you just did was all… all about lines, and showing something, something complex. I know my strengths,” he adds, attempting to regain his self-possession, “But they aren’t that.”

“True,” Byleth replies, “But that’s all the more reason to work on them.”

“Shouldn’t a programme play to my strengths, though?”

“Why can’t it do that too? We can work up the difficulty of the footwork, the jumps, all that.”

Felix hesitates, considering, then Byleth’s hand on his bare arm below his short-sleeved shirt startles him in to turning to look at her. She’s startlingly close when he turns his head, her eyes wide but solemn. “Felix,” she says, then sighs. “Look, I know you’re not thrilled with me as a coach, but we need to work together. I need you trust me on this. I think it will work for you.”

Her hand is cool on his arm. “I suppose,” he says, through a dry mouth.

She gives him her slow half-smile again, the one he’s coming to realise means she is genuinely pleased. “Thank you,” she says, and then her hand is gone and she’s on her feet again, holding it out to help him up. “Let me show you what I’ve been planning.”

* * *

Felix goes home in something of a haze that evening, caught in thought enough that he hardly notices his walk through the small town and up the stairs in his building. He’d always considered performing to be a part of skating to be suffered through, for the enjoyment of the rest of it – the freedom of the ice, the strange joy in perfecting a jump after hours of painful falls. The way Byleth had moved that afternoon, though, had made him almost want to be able to do more. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the artistry in skating, and plenty of skaters have shown him enough emotion that he knows it can be done, but none of them had ever made him quite want to do it himself. Maybe it’s just a personality thing. Most of the programmes people tend to laud as emotional are sentimental things, so often based on trite stories and set to even more trite music.

He opens his laptop and types naqoyqatsi into the browser. ‘Life as war,’ he’s told it means. It fits the restlessness he’d heard earlier well. Finding a link to the music, he lets himself just sit in his chair and listen for a moment.

He’s still a little shaken up from Dimitri’s win at worlds, and the last few days have pushed him into a self-reflection that’s not standard for him. Byleth, Dimitri, new programmes… Felix sighs, and opens up a new tab, letting the music play on in the background. He quickly finds the score sheets from the world championships, and the ones from Faerghus nationals a year ago – his last competition before his injury. He’d skated well then, scoring personal bests by quite a wide margin, and placing second to Dimitri only narrowly. Looking at his scores then, though, and Dimitri’s most recent ones, he comes in second by a considerable way. He stares at the breakdowns, flipping back between the two competitions. Dimitri’s technical components are only a little ahead of his own, and Felix has added another jump since then, and it’ll be up to two if he can manage it. It’s the performance components where he’s left behind. As much as Felix hates it, Dimitri manages to exude a sort of effortless charm when skating, and the judges lap it up.

Byleth is right, he realises unenthusiastically. If he wants to win, he needs to do more. Dimitri’s only one of his competitors, too, though certainly his nearest and most personally vexing. Felix tries to muster up his usual single-minded certainty, and forces himself to settle into the thought that this year, he will do more than just skate the motions. He still feels uncomfortable with the very idea.

Sighing, he turns up the volume of the music, and puts the thoughts aside for now. He continues listening as he makes himself dinner, surprised to find the parts Byleth had played earlier are only a small selection of the soundtrack’s broad scope. When it finishes as he’s eating, he wavers for a moment, then opens up the contact information Byleth had typed into his phone on the first day they’d met. 

_I listened to the whole soundtrack_ , he texts, _I have some suggestions about which parts to use if you haven’t made firm decisions yet_. That’s as much of an apology as he can muster for making her reassure and persuade him earlier, and he just hopes she can read it as such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Claude skated [this programme](https://youtu.be/5d4nN-N1Ft0) of Shoma Uno’s, and Dimitri skated [this one](https://youtu.be/LZLvwZKIw9k) of Ilia Kulik’s
> 
> Byleth plays Felix music from _Naqoyqatsi _by Philip Glass. I think “Life as War” is a pretty Felix idea, really.__


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while to wrangle into shape, so sorry for the delay! Even more thanks than usual are due to TrickySleeves, who helped make this actually make any sense at all.

Two days later, Felix walks onto the ice with bruises singing all over his body from every fall he’d taken in yesterday’s jump training, and sees Dimitri standing at the side talking to Byleth.

He aborts his trajectory towards her abruptly in favour of circling the ice. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised – he knew Dimitri would be back soon. He skates a few circuits, unwilling to stop and let himself be cornered, but he’s still carrying his skate guards and water, and the lacing on one boot doesn’t feel quite right either. He dumps his stuff as quickly as he can manage, and bends down to relace the boot as fast as possible. But it’s not enough, and as he straightens up, Byleth is skating over to him with Dimitri following behind like a lost duck.

“Felix!” he calls out. “I was just meeting your new coach.”

“Great,” Felix bites back. “Glad you’ve been introduced so I don’t have to do it. Now can we get on? I do have training to do.”

The way Dimitri’s face falls is entirely predictable, and no less anger-inducing than it is every other time. “Of course, Felix,” he says. “I’m excited to see the programmes you come up with.”

Felix just grunts, and skates away again. He launches into a flying spin, and tries to forget about Dimitri standing there watching him. It’s not much use though, and when he comes out of it, Byleth skates along beside him with a frown. “You’re off today,” she says.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Felix practically growls.

She gives one sharp shake of her head. “No. No jumps today, you’ll just hurt yourself.”

Now Felix just wants to scream. He _needs_ to jump, needs the challenge, the distraction. But he can’t do much but agree. Contradicting her won’t get him anything but animosity, and, if he’s honest, even more bruises.

“Stroking practice first, then spins,” she says. “I think I’ve found you some music for the short programme, but it needs some more… elegance, I suppose.”

Felix sighs, but does as she says, and works on the little sets of variations and arm movements she gives him to practise. She goes over to work with Annette after a little while, and he is left forcing himself through camel spin after camel spin, trying to find a way to catch his free foot in one hand that doesn’t feel like he’s flailing his arm wildly behind him. It’s ridiculously frustrating, and he finds himself getting more and more worked up.

He pulls out of a spin that had rocketed completely out of control, travelling much too far across the ice, and curses himself. He sets up for another, and then notices Dimitri across the rink, setting up for a jump. _Fuck it_ , Felix thinks. Dimitri can be the one to get out of _his_ way, for once.

He launches into his spin anyway, and hears Dimitri’s sharp exclamation as he turns into a blur, and feels a petty little wave of joy. He catches his foot nearly perfectly this time, and raises his joined arm and skate above his head, stretching almost into the teardrop shape of a Biellmann.

When he drops his leg again and skates out of it, Dimitri is standing by the wall, and Byleth is skating over to him. Her face is impassive.

“That last one was good,” she says. “Break now. Come with me.” And she turns and skates off the ice.

He follows her reluctantly, and the moment they’re out of sight of the other skaters, she stops and leans her back against the wall. “Explain that,” she says.

She doesn’t exactly look angry, Felix thinks, which surprises him a little. He was expecting to be dragged off for a scolding like a child, but that doesn’t seem to be her aim. He still shrugs mutinously though. “Nothing to explain,” he says.

“Yes, there is,” Byleth insists calmly. “Felix. I’m not interested in telling you off, or whatever. You’re an experienced skater, you know how dangerous interfering with someone’s jump trajectory can be. I just want to know why.”

Felix remains quiet for a moment, but then sighs and leans back against the wall opposite her. “I just thought maybe he should get out of the way for once, since he’s so insistent on playing all ‘nice’ for everyone.”

Byleth just quirks one eyebrow. “Ok, I think I’m going to need more context to understand that comment.”

Felix scowls at her. It’s not like he wants to unpack all his personal history with Dimitri right here, in this faintly dingy corridor that always smells of damp from the shards of ice that melt off everyone’s skates. But Byleth is still looking at him intently. “He’s not the person he presents himself as. He’s just hiding how much he’ll do anything to win under this… mask of a decent person.”

He stops at that, not really wanting to elaborate. But her eyes are piercing, and he can feel their weight even when he looks away and sighs heavily, and it forces him to continue.

“It’s about Glenn for him, I think. His parents too, I guess.”

Byleth takes a moment to reply. “Glenn?” she asks.

He shakes his head at her. “No, that’s not the point. Why doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s just a _brute_ hiding under that veneer.”

“What do you mean?” Byleth asks when he doesn’t say anything more. She looks a little lost.

Felix takes a deep breath. “Dimitri and I have known each other… forever, I guess. The way he acts, it used to be genuine, I think. We were _friends_ , for so long.” He tugs at his hair, tightening his ponytail. “Then he fucking threw me across the ice, and it turns out he’s just some shell pretending to still be a person, but there’s nothing left in him that actually gives a shit about anyone else any more.”

Byleth’s face is usually stony, but there’s an extra coldness to it now. “What did he do to you?” she asks, and Felix grimaces.

“He threw me into a jump too hard,” he says, reluctantly, then shakes his head. “Sorry. That probably makes no sense. Two years ago, we were doing a tour for a skating show. We… we had a lot of publicity, for various reasons, and the organisers wanted to capitalise on it, so they had us doing this stupid pairs’ skating bit in the finale of the show, with a big throw jump. With me being thrown, since I’m apparently so small.” Felix looks thunderously angry for a second, but shakes it off.

“The first few times we did the show, it was all fine. Dimitri got this wild look in his eyes when we were on the ice, and I could tell something was wrong, but he wouldn’t admit it, kept just saying he was fine. Then he started asking if we could put more rotations in the throw jump. We’d been doing a throw double salchow, so we practised the triple, and it worked, so we started performing with that. And then he wanted to try a throw quad.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows, “You did a throw quad at an _ice show_?” she says in disbelief. Felix just shrugs. Thrown quadruple jumps are rare even at the highest levels of pairs’ competition – the extra lift of a partner pushing you into the air adds height, but also danger, and managing four revolutions is never easy.

“The quad part wasn’t even the problem,” he says. “It was easier than I expected, probably because I jump quads on my own anyway. It was going ok, and it kept getting better, but it wasn’t reliable enough to perform yet, and everyone told us we shouldn’t risk it.”

Felix exhales heavily. He still doesn’t like thinking about this. “Then we got to my hometown, and…” he swallows heavily, “The audience apparently loved us, and they were cheering for us to do the jump again. Dimitri seemed thrilled, and then he begged me to try the quad. I thought, well, why not? We’d been doing it pretty well, but I must have been pretty full of adrenaline to agree. But Dimitri was… far beyond just adrenaline. We were setting it up, and he got this manic look in his eyes, and he _threw_ me. Far too hard for me to land properly” He feels slightly sick as he remembers that odd and awful moment of suspension when he realised there was no way he could control the jump.

He stops then, and just stares up at the ceiling. Byleth’s face is icy when he manages to look at her. “Were you hurt?” she asks.

“I was lucky, really, I just bruised my hip up in the end.” He presses one hand to his side unconsciously, then snatches it away when he notices. “Dimitri came and helped me up, and then he asked if we should _try it again_. I’d just gone skidding across the ice until I hit the barrier, and it still wasn’t enough for him.”

Byleth pushes herself off the wall, and starts taking short paces up and down the corridor. “Right. He will not get a chance to do anything like that again,” she says. It coaxes a small smile out of Felix. As unnecessary as the protective instinct is, it’s reassuring that not everyone brushes this off.

After a moment, she comes to rest against the wall again. “But you still haven’t explained all this fully,” she continues. Felix gives her a sharp look, but she shrugs. “You haven’t explained who Glenn is, or what he has to do with this.”

“Ha,” Felix says, with a humourless grin. “I guess not.” He pauses. “Did you ever hear about my brother?” he asks.

She frowns for a moment. “Oh. Glenn Fraldarius? I think I remember hearing something about him.”

Felix looks up at the ceiling again. “Yeah. He was a skater too, but pairs, not singles. He was Ingrid’s partner until three years ago. When he died.”

Byleth doesn’t say anything. He’s glad he doesn’t have to respond to the usual litany of _I’m so sorry for your loss_ and _how awful_ that he usually gets whenever he mentions Glenn, and it’s easier than he expected to continue. “He and Dimitri’s family were off at some competition, just walking down the street, and they were hit by a truck that skidded off the road.” Felix swallows heavily. “Dimitri survived because Glenn managed to push him out of the way.”

He dares a glance at Byleth, but she still seems expressionless, waiting for him to finish. “That was why we had all that ghoulish publicity that year, and Dimitri...” he sighs, but it comes out halfway to a growl. “He told me after it happened that Glenn would have wanted him to win now, and if he didn’t, his death wouldn’t mean anything. I told him that death doesn’t ever _mean_ anything, it’s just fucking death. But he didn’t care.”

Felix takes a shaky breath, and forces himself on. “He tries to hide it, but all he wants is to win, to amaze people. He doesn’t care about anything else, it’s just this hysterical drive to do anything to impress, as though if he does that it’ll _justify_ Glenn saving him. The niceness is just… some mask he puts on for everyone, but he’ll never admit that. I can’t stand how he fucking tries to cover it all up, so today I suppose I just thought maybe he could be actually decent for once, and get out of the way for me.” Felix avoids looking back at Byleth, and confesses to the ceiling. “It was stupid and petty but it just felt fucking satisfying, ok?”

The corridor is silent for a moment. “Ok,” Byleth says.

Felix finds his breathing is faster than he’d like, and it takes him a deliberate moment to calm it again. When he feels a little more collected he looks back up at her.

She shrugs at him. “I’m not pleased, of course, but I get it. And,” she laughs awkwardly, “I’m not cut out for lecturing people.”

He stays quiet, until she adds, “And I don’t get the impression you’re going to do something like that again, right?”

He shakes his head, fighting to keep his expression from becoming sullen, and Byleth gives him her small smile.

“Thank you for telling me,” she adds softly.

Felix can feel himself flushing uncomfortably, and does his best to fight it down. He pushes himself off the wall, and tears his gaze away from her face. “Come on,” he says brusquely. “We should go back on the ice now.”

She gives him a last smile, then walks back down the corridor to the ice and skates over to Annette. Felix sighs and follows her. They must have been standing out there for longer than he realised, because Sylvain’s giving him a curious look. Felix shakes his head at him and goes back to his spin practise. He’s surprised to find he feels more settled now, more focused. He’s more able to ignore Dimitri talking earnestly to Gilbert at one side of the ice, too, and if he can keep that… well, that might be a blessing that’s worth any price.

* * *

With the competitive season over, the atmosphere at Garreg Mach begins to relax. Soon there will be ice shows and training camps, and after that training will pick up again before competition resumes in the autumn. For now, though, many of the skaters are about to take little holidays, or escape to visit families. Felix, of course, has no intention to do anything but stay and train, taking advantage of the empty ice rink, but nonetheless the lighter mood at the rink eases the tension he always carries in his chest. He’s getting used to having Byleth as a coach, and he’s surprised to find how much he starts to loosen up in her presence. She’s an excellent skater, of course — it’s not like he’d have much respect for her if she wasn’t — but beyond that, he’s realising it’s far easier to work with her than any of his previous coaches. She’s quieter and more patient than him, but neither of them is inclined to waste words on unnecessary trivialities, and though she drags him into the dance studios far more often than he’d like, they seem to have similar ideas on how to train, and how he should progress.

Byleth seems takes a surprisingly collaborative approach, too. Felix and Annette end up working far more together than he has with previous training-mates. They take dance classes together, and watch early versions of each other’s programmes. Though he hadn’t had much to do with her before, Felix finds himself warming up to her. He’d thought Annette a little silly when he first met her, but he’s found since that she has a drive to learn and improve as strong as his own, though she expresses it very differently. Having swept gold medals in virtually every competition of the junior ladies’ division last year, she’s now moving up to seniors, and seems to have developed a fierce determination at the prospect of greater competition. She’s also surprisingly good foil to Felix and Byleth’s dispositions, and they train well together. Annette is sunny in the face of Felix’s dark moods, and chatters to fill Byleth’s silence.

Amid this newly comfortable environment, Annette’s also the one who drags them out to the endless social events Sylvain starts to organise in their sudden expanse of free time. It starts off with a big end-of-season party in the dining hall the Friday after Dimitri returns from worlds, which everyone is cajoled into going to. Manuela and Hannemann are there, and even Seteth and Rhea appear for a little while. Byleth looks incredibly awkward standing with the other coaches, a good ten or fifteen years younger than even Manuela. Her father eventually pulls her over to a table occupied by the raucous physical training staff, but she doesn’t look much happier there.

When she gets up and starts wandering the room looking a little lost, Annette decides to take mercy on Byleth and sweeps her over to the more sedate corner of the room where she and Mercedes are sitting with Dedue from the physiotherapy team. Felix is with them too, because it’s currently a choice between that or watching Sylvain try to get Ingrid and Dimitri drunk, and he thinks he’s had enough of that for a lifetime. Byleth sits down beside him and lapses into silence to listen to Annette and Mercedes excitedly talk about the cake they’d brought along. She doesn’t appear to have much to add to the conversation, even when Mercedes tries to draw her out a little more.

“Have you tried any of the food, Byleth?” she asks. “Annie and I made the chocolate cake over there, but there’s a lot of wonderful things.”

Byleth just gives a strained smile and shrugs.

Felix almost pities her, she looks so uncomfortable surrounded by people. “Come on,” he says, “You must have tried some of the food. I’ve seen how much you eat every day at lunch.”

Annette giggles, then looks apologetic. “He is right. I think the kitchen staff go into shock every time they see you now.”

A more genuine smile creeps onto Byleth’s face, and she shrugs. “I do like to eat. I tried some kind of spicy chicken over there. It was pretty good.”

“That was Dedue’s!” Annette says excitedly. “Isn’t he a great cook?”

Dedue inclines his head briefly, and adds, “I do not think we have met yet. I am Dedue.”

“Byleth,” she says, looking exhausted by the social interaction again.

“Oh yes, Dedue must have been away when you joined us,” Mercedes says. “He’s a physiotherapist, he went to worlds with Dimitri.”

“How is your ankle, Felix?” Dedue asks.

Felix scowls. “It’s fine, as usual,” he says. “I saw one of the others two days ago, you don’t have to worry about it.” He’s never liked how absurdly devoted to Dimitri Dedue is. After the accident three years ago, he’d done all of Dimitri’s physiotherapy for the hip he injured, and has accompanied him to every competition ever since.

Felix stands up abruptly. “I’m going to get another drink,” he says.

“Ooh, could you get me one too?” Annette asks brightly.

He sighs. “Fine, what do you want?” He ends up with requests from Mercedes and Dedue as well, and since his luck is terrible, Ashe, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dimitri all pick that moment to come and join their table and add their drinks to the list.

After they’ve all argued about who has and hasn’t drunk too much already, Byleth gets up with him. “I’ll help you carry,” she says quietly.

At the makeshift bar at the other end of the room, Felix sighs at finally not being surrounded by chatter. Byleth looks just as exhausted as him. “Sorry,” he says. “They can be a bit overwhelming all at once.”

She shoots him her little half smile. “No, they’re fine. I’m just… never very good at social situations.”

“Me neither,” he replies.

When they return, laden with alcohol, Byleth apparently decides to take the economical way out, and just brings a whole bottle of whisky with her. When they sit at one end of the table, as far away from Dimitri as Felix can manage, she settles in to watch Mercedes brush off Sylvain’s increasingly ridiculous flirting with far greater sense of ease. When Felix finishes his own drink, Byleth silently holds the bottle out to him. He takes it thankfully, and they slowly end up working their way through most of it in relative silence. The whole group relaxes into a quieter camaraderie as other people trickle out of the dining hall. Sylvain stops saying quite such deliberately outrageous things, and Ingrid stops loudly chastising him.

When Jeralt comes over and claps Byleth on the shoulder, Felix watches him with interest. He hasn’t had a reason to meet him yet, but he’s something of a legend for his past career as a skater. He’s bulked out a lot since he was competing, and now radiates a kind of easy power that his daughter seems to have inherited.

“I’m off, kid,” he says. “Are you coming now or not till later?”

“Oh, don’t go yet!” Annette protests. “Stay a bit longer. You still haven’t tried our cake!”

Felix is expecting Byleth to take any excuse to leave, but the whisky must have relaxed her more than he’d realised, because she smiles back at Annette, and turns to her father. “I’ll stay a little longer, I think.”

Annette squeals happily, jumping up to find Byleth a plate for some cake, and Jeralt ruffles Byleth’s hair and departs.

“You didn’t seem to be having much fun,” Felix says to her, as nonchalantly as he can. “I thought you’d have taken the excuse to leave.”

Byleth grins back at him. “I just really like cake,” she says.

Felix can’t hold back his snort of laughter. Sylvain apparently notices, because he leans around Mercedes to say, “Wow, you’re much better at getting Felix drunk than I am, Byleth. He only laughs like that when he’s had a lot.”

Looking at the whisky bottle, Felix finds to his surprise it’s nearly empty. Fuck, he thinks, there goes tomorrow’s training.

He only realises he’s said it aloud when Byleth replies. “It’s ok, I doubt I’ll be much use either,” she says. Felix looks at her, and takes in the way she’s draped loosely over her chair and the edge of the table, one hand supporting her chin. He hadn’t really thought about it until seeing her like this, but she always seems to stand very upright. Everything about her is controlled, restrained, except for when she moves on the ice. Or when dancing, he thinks, remembering how she’d looked that first time she’d shown him his new free programme, all flowing limbs and loose perfection.

He feels the moment stretch as he smiles back at her, until it’s broken by a loud chorus of laughter from across the room that shatters the momentary quiet, and Byleth looks away from him. It suddenly feels very warm, and Felix pulls himself away to walk over to the windows. As he struggles to open one, his hands are knocked abruptly away. He turns with a frown, but it’s just Sylvain, who smiles easily at him.

“You’re too short to open this window, Felix,” he teases, and reaches up to undo the latch at the top.

Felix does his best to muster a proper scowl, but he’s still feeling loose and relaxed, so he just slumps against the wall to enjoy the breeze that’s now been allowed in. His eyes drift back over to Byleth, who’s now solemnly eating a slice of cake while Annette bounces up and down in the seat next to her.

“Is it your new coach that you’re watching so intently?” Sylvain asks. “Because I know it’s not the chocolate cake.”

“Fuck off,” Felix says easily. “She’s… interesting.”

“Oh, I bet she is,” Sylvain replies. “Especially in those tight training clothes.”

Felix drives his elbow into his friend’s side, hard. Sylvain wheezes and flips him off, but he’s laughing nonetheless. “She’s my coach, you arsehole,” he says.

Sylvain shrugs. “I mean, yeah, but she’s barely older than us. And it’s not like we’re in high school any more, Felix, she’s just a coach.”

“I don’t remember that stopping you flirting with all our teachers in high school,” Felix retorts.

“Do you really think anything would stop me from flirting with someone who looks like _that_?” Sylvain asks. “Come on, look at those legs.”

Felix just rolls his eyes and goes back over to sit at the table. He hopes he’s not drunk enough for Annette to convince him to try some cake, because he knows he’ll regret it if he does. The night becomes one of those that dissolves into a hazy stream of warm laughter that can’t be remembered with any clarity, and Felix allows it to become one of the few times a year where he’ll drink enough to be useless the next day. Usually he restrains himself, valuing his training above the temporary conviviality of drunkenness, but it’s the end of the season. He even lets himself give in to Ingrid’s taunts about his inability to outdrink her, and enjoys soundly beating her when they race through lines of shots.

He walks home in a pleasant haze, and falls asleep to the memory of his friends’ delighted cheers as he slammed down the last shot glass, and raised his arms in victory. Byleth hadn’t joined the loud chorus, but he’d caught her delighted grin across the table, and found himself looking forward to seeing her face when he starts winning medals instead.

The party, of course, is only the first of Sylvain’s attempts to persuade an otherwise regimented group of athletes to let loose a little. First, there are drinks, then a movie night, and after about the third time the two of them end up sat quietly at one end of a chattering table, Felix asks Byleth why she bothers to come.

She shrugs in response. “I’m not that talkative, but I do like being here. You’re the one who seems to actually hate it.”

Felix fidgets a little under her calm gaze. “Hate is a little strong.”

“We have been over this,” she says. “I know you don’t really like to talk all that much. And you know I’m the same.”

“Hmph. Well, it’s not very fair, you made me explain my life story in some fucking corridor, but I still know basically nothing about you,” Felix retorts.

Byleth looks surprised. “Oh,” she says. “Sorry.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I get it, obviously. But we’ve been working together for weeks now, and you still haven’t said anything about yourself.”

“I suppose I didn’t realise,” she muses, then shrugs again. “Well, what did you want to know?”

Felix scuffs one foot against the floor. “I don’t know. All I know about you is who your father is. That’s about it.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she says, then pauses. “It’s not all that interesting, though. I’ve kind of been working at odd things in skating for the past few years. My dad and I travelled around a lot, and I’ve just been helping with his work, mostly. He does bits of coaching wherever we find it, and he used to do a lot of personal training before he got more coaching experience, so we just did whatever work we found. He never much liked choreography, so I ended up doing it for various people wherever we happened to be.” She scrunches up her nose. “A lot of kids’ programmes, but some decent stuff too. That’s about it, to be honest.”

“Did your dad teach you to skate?” he asks.

“Yeah. I don’t even know when I started. I’ve just been skating for as long as I can remember.”

Felix looks at her curiously. “Why don’t you compete?”

She shrugs. “I used to, when I was younger.”

“But why not now?” he presses

Byleth looks at him as though she’s very carefully sizing him up. But obviously he doesn’t quite have whatever she’s looking for because she just shrugs. “Lots of reasons. I’ll explain some other time.” She sips at her glass of water, then seems to startle. “Oh, I just remembered I need to ask you about something. Annette’s going away next week, and then she’s signed up for a couple of training camps later on. But I realised I don’t actually know what your plans for the next few months are.”

“Annette’s going away?” Felix asks.

Byleth tilts her head at him. “Visiting her mother, I think.”

Felix suppresses a snort. “Yeah, I’m not going off to visit family or anything.” He shrugs. “I’ve got some ice shows in May, but I’m only doing a few. I thought about doing a training camp, but decided not to.”

Byleth nods slowly. “Good. Sounds like we have plenty of time to work, then. I believe most of the others are going to be away for a lot of the summer, so we’ll have the ice to ourselves.”

Something thrills through Felix’s stomach at the thought of just him and Byleth alone on the ice, but he pushes it down. “Aren’t you going to take a break or anything?” he asks. She just shrugs.

“I only just got here.” Byleth gives him a slanting smile. “Guess we’ll have to get used to spending our time together.”


End file.
